


Long Migrations

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Road Trips, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: "I was thinking Cas and I might take a little road trip"(Continuation ofBack from the Dark)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 97





	Long Migrations

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I wanted to include this as part of Back from the Dark - but then I never would have been able to get it posted before 15x20, so no regrets there. If you read them together, it's probably better, but I'm not the boss of you, so do whatever you like.
> 
> I know it's been a rough ride, but the up-side is, the world belongs to us now.

“Ya know, I was thinking Cas and I might take a little road trip.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam manages to keep a straight face, but the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he scrubs at the plate in his hand makes Dean want to reach over and give him a smack just on principle. “Where to?”

Dean shrugs, “Haven’t decided. Just...get out of your way for a little while.”

Cas has been back for almost a month, and it’s been great - honestly it has; it’s been probably one of the best months of Dean’s entire life since he was four years old (and isn’t that fucking sad) - but it feels like there are eyes on them, all the time. It makes Dean feel like his damned skin is going to crawl off. He knows they’re not judging him - they’re _rooting_ for him, as horrifying as that is - but there are some things you just don’t do in your little brother’s house.

Sam rolls his eyes, affectionately. “You’re not _in the way_ , Dean. You’re both family, you can stay as long as you want.” he pauses, ominous, and then, because he’s completely an asshole and Dean obviously raised him wrong, he adds, “As long as you change the sheets.”

“What the hell, Sam,” Dean chokes. If there was ever a time for the floor to open up underneath him, this would be it. Dean tries to stare his brother down, but he’s well aware that his entire head is glowing like some kind of massive emergency light. Still, Sam breaks first, barking with laughter.

“You should see your face.”

“My fist is going to see your face,” Dean grumbles. He’s been scrubbing at the plate in his hands with such ferocity that the towel has just about taken the finish off. “I am _not_ rounding any bases with Cas in this house.”

Sam only laughs harder, but Dean can’t help the anxious knot in his stomach. This is big, this thing with him and Cas, and the risk of ruining it is too much for him to think about. Sam looks over at him and goes quiet, hands Dean the last plate.

“Seriously though, Dean - don’t feel like you guys have to go anywhere. If you need some time alone with Cas, you can ask.”

Dean feels like his head is going to combust, scorch his entire body from the neck down. But he does appreciate the sentiment. Kind of.

“It’s fine, Sam. I’m feeling kinda stir-crazy anyway.” Belatedly, he has a thought. “Do you and Eileen need a - a date night or something? Cuz Cas and I can -”

Sam claps him on the back, smiling. “We can talk about it when you guys get back.”

This concludes Dean’s daily dose of embarrassment, apparently; so he makes a tactical retreat to the living room, where Cas is holed up on the couch with a book he pilfered from one of Sam and Eileen’s many, many shelves. When Dean approaches, he helpfully lifts his legs to make room, and then deposits his feet in Dean’s lap when Dean sits down.

The TV is on - no volume, just subtitles, which means Eileen ws probably watching before she took Lilly upstairs to get ready for bed - and Dean watches the goofy sitcom that’s still playing with a half-hearted interest, slipping a hand just inside Cas’ pant leg to rub at his ankle.

He’s discovered that he likes being able to do this - to touch Cas, simply, thoughtlessly. He likes best when he forgets to hesitate before doing it.

“Hey - you feel like going on a trip with me for a couple days?” he asks, trying to pitch it casually, without looking away from the T.V.

Cas lays his book across his chest. “Of course.” He says it with such easy confidence that - if Dean wasn’t sitting down - he might have felt a little light-headed. “Where are we going?”

“I dunno. Is there any place you want to visit? World’s biggest ball of twine? Hole n’ The Rock? The Corn Palace?”

“Oh god, Dean,” Sam groans, passing through on his way upstairs. “Not the Corn Palace.”

Cas frowns at them both. “Is the palace...made of corn? Or is the corn -”

Dean cuts him off, laughing. “Okay, no Corn Palace. But just you and me for a couple of days. Waddya say?”

Cas smiles in that stupidly endearing way that wrinkles up the bridge of his nose. “I already said I would. Now I’m very curious about this Corn Palace.”

Dean pinches him, and Cas rolls his eyes and shoves Dean’s shoulder with his other foot. He’s wearing ridiculous socks, with pink and purple polka dots - picked them himself, and Dean didn’t have the heart to say anything against it, like how Cas should have _proper socks_ , because Cas should be allowed to choose things for himself - and it’s equally ridiculous that Dean loves him even more than he did a minute ago, just looking at them.

Cas goes back to his book. Dean zones out in front of the TV, dozes off like an old man, and wakes up to Cas standing over him, combing fingers through his hair.

“Come to bed, Dean.” Cas takes his hand, though he doesn’t need to, helps boost him to his feet. Dean feels loose-limbed, warm, slides his arms around Cas, presses his nose not the soft part of Cas’ neck, where he smells sweet and familiar - a little bit of burnt ozone, something metallic, the sandalwood soap from the bathroom.

“I like hearing you say that,” he murmurs. He slips his fingers under Cas’ shirt at the back, up the divot of his spine, and Cas shivers against him. “You wanna go to bed with me, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas says, hoarse and hot, swaying a little into Dean’s touch. When Dean kisses the knot of his jawbone, he tilts his head obligingly, breathless. “Very much.”

Dean spreads his whole hand, flat, against the small of Cas’ back, and Cas rocks forward; Dean can feel how excited he’s getting, with only thin cotton sweats between them. Then a floorboard creaks above their heads, and Dean flinches. Cas makes a soft, frustrated noise and knocks his forehead against Dean’s collarbone, fingers tightening against Dean’s hips. Against his better judgement, Dean chuckles - his skin still tingling, his heart beating too fast.

“Hold that thought,” he kisses the side of Cas’ neck. “Just a little bit longer.”

Cas grumbles about it, but he forces himself to let Dean go. Still, once they’re tucked in bed, he curls in as close to Dean as possible, presses himself against Dean’s back like he wants to crawl inside Dean’s skin; and yeah - _hold that thought_ , Dean tells himself. 

_Hold that thought_.

***

They leave after breakfast the next morning, promise up and down they’ll be back soon, soon, no later than Thanksgiving, because Sam can’t cook a turkey to save his life so Dean has to be the hero in that situation; and then they point Baby out onto the highway and _drive_.

For Dean, it’s better than coffee. He feels bright and alive as he turns up the music and puts the pedal down. The deep bass purr of the engine is like a secret language that speaks directly to Dean’s heart, makes him grin - wide and wild. He looks over at Cas and sees him smiling, too, looking at Dean with laughter in his eyes, and so much love that it makes Dean feel like his heart is swelling behind his ribs.

He’s driven about every stretch of road that spans from everywhere in the continental United States back to Sam and Eileen’s little house, but Cas has barely been more than a few miles away since he got back from the Empty. The furthest they went was to a thrift store in town to get him new clothes. Now he's glued to the window, watching the clean fields of golden autumn grass roll past, the distant houses, the occasional horse or group of cows.

“You can roll down the window,” Dean suggests. It’ll be a bit cold, but so what? They’re just in that deep part of autumn when the wind smells sharp and icy-sweet in the mornings, the purest it gets.

“Later, maybe,” Cas smiles, reaches over to put his hand on Dean’s thigh, and leans back in his seat.

Dean drums his hands on the steering wheel, along with the beat of the music, and smiles until his face hurts.

They drive through until late afternoon, taking the backroads that Dean always prefers when he’s got nowhere to be. They’re already starting to lose daylight when they drive past an old farmyard - tilting barn, big old house with the paint peeling off the outside, and a For Sale sign on a half-torn down fence - and a few minutes later they’re cruising down one of those picture-perfect little main streets, peppered with tidy storefronts like something out of a Rockwell painting. Dean spots a diner, and pulls into the parking lot.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Cas says, and when he looks at Dean it’s obvious he’s only half-thinking of food.

“Alright, alright,” Dean laughs, face suddenly hot. He shoves open the door and lets cool air flood into the car. “Slow down Cassanova. Maybe I need to fuel up first, huh?” Though he suddenly doesn’t feel all that hungry. He’s been thinking about it, of course - since the sun started sinking, particularly - the motel room that’s inevitably in their future, and what’s going to happen once they get there. It’s not inexperience that makes his skin tingle with nervous energy at the thought. Dean has always known he liked looking at other guys - liked strong shoulders and strong jaw lines and big, work-roughened hands - even liked fooling around with them, particularly when he was younger and stupider and prettier; but that’s all it was: _fooling around._

He’s going to do more than fool around with Cas; he’s going into this with his whole heart, not just to scratch an itch (though - who’s he kidding - the itch is definitely there) and it kind of scares the shit out of him. Not that he’ll admit it out loud.

“Dean?” Cas’ hand touches his back, and Dean jumps, yanked forcefully out of his own head. Cas eyes him, worriedly. “Is everything alright?”

“Sure,” he laughs it off as quickly as he can, strides up the sidewalk and pulls open the door. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

It’s a nice little place, as it turns out. A bit quiet, maybe - Dean’s surprised to see so few locals out for dinner - but the waitress is friendly and the food is good; Dean even finishes his veggies. (Despite himself, he’s started appreciating the odd bit of ruffage.) They linger a while when they’re done, watching the traffic outside thin out as it gets darker. Not much activity on the streets after dark in a town this small, especially as the weather gets colder; but it leaves Dean feeling weirdly exposed. It’s obvious they’re not local, when they don't immediately bundle up and head home as soon as the streetlights come on.

“Can I get you boys anything else?” The waitress asks, slipping past their table once last time with the coffee pot in her hand.

“No, that’s fine,” Dean says, counting out some cash. “There a good motel nearby?”

She glances between them, thoughtfully, then shrugs. “Good or bad, there’s only the one. The Sunset - just keep heading up the street from here. Can’t miss it.”

That turns out to be an understatement. The place looks clean enough, but it has a huge, gaudy neon sign out front that’s probably the bane of the town council because it ruins the town’s otherwise perfect Pleasantville aesthetic. Dean pulls up outside the office, and when Cas moves to get out, pats him quickly on the arm.

“Nah - wait here. I won’t be gone long.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Dean feels a tiny pang of guilt as he gets out - but he can’t forget where they are, and if Dean has to hear the slightly greasy kid behind the counter ask _king or two queens_ while Cas is standing right behind him, he might actually die.

He manages, by some miracle, to act almost entirely normal as he checks them in; the anxious, electric feeling doesn’t come back until he’s shouldering his bag from the trunk, following Cas inside.

It’s like any other motel room that Dean has stayed in hundreds of times, except for the bed, which seems massive. Cas sets his bag on the dinette table. Dean sets his by the door. He’s got lube in there, he thinks suddenly, condoms; things he bought specifically so he could have sex with Cas. Dean shivers, and leans down to fiddle with the heater by the window - trying to get the place a little warm, twisting the knobs until it blasts him in the face with stale air. He shrugs off his coat, turns around, and Cas is standing by the foot of the bed with his own coat hooked around his elbows, perfectly still, eyes wide, cheeks dark with colour.

“Hey,” Dean says, hesitant, gentle. He curls a hand, beckoning Cas over, and Cas practically runs right into him, might have bowled Dean right over if Dean hadn’t put hands out to stop him. “Easy, tiger.”

He slides his hands down Cas’ arms, dragging his coat free, tosses it with his own over the nearest chair. Cas has taken a liking to long-sleeved tees, anything soft cotton, with long cuffs that almost manage to hide his hands. Dean pushes the cuff back on one side, strokes the soft skin inside his wrist.

“I’m not in a rush, ya know.”

“I know,” Cas says. He gets a hand inside Dean’s coat, over his heart, heavy and warm. “I don’t feel rushed. I…” he takes a slow, shivery breath, shifts minutely closer, so that Dean can feel the heat coming off him. “I’m honestly not sure I know what I feel.”

“Cas -”

Cas huffs, breathless, frustrated; cups Dean’s face in his hands. “Don’t mistake me Dean - what I mean is....I never thought I would have this. I’m...not sure it’s safe to want more, yet.”

And it will probably always kill Dean a little that Cas would have been happy to have nothing but words, to never ask for anything else for himself; that somewhere along the way, in teaching Cas how to love, Dean taught him _too_ well, taught him to hold on to all the same, stupid shit Dean does: that he doesn’t deserve this second chance - hell, a _first_ chance, even.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I wish I was better at this, Cas.” He doesn’t necessarily mean any part of this specifically - more all of it, generally. He doesn’t know how to make things work the way Sam and Eileen do. He doesn’t know where to begin.. 

“I think you’re doing just fine.” Cas bumps his forehead against Dean’s temple, his mouth against the line of Dean’s jaw. “We do always seem to figure things out. Eventually.”

His fingers catch the hem of Dean’s shirt, push up to find the skin underneath. Dean feels his face start to go hot. 

“I - uh - I’m a little softer than I used to be,” he admits, sheepishly. No one can stay ahead of the slow march of time and the gentle temptation of fast food forever. These days, depending on the season, he’s stuck with anywhere between five and ten extra pounds he can’t seem to shake off. Cas must know it - they’ve been sleeping next to each other for weeks, and living in close quarters otherwise, but it’s a little embarrassing to know he’s actually going to see it. 

Cas spreads his palm, wide and warm, over Dean’s belly, kisses beneath his ear. “I promise, I don’t care about that. Please. Can I touch you?”

The way he says it, with just the tiniest unsteady edge - Dean would give Cas his whole heart if Cas asked. Hell, he already has.

Dean pulls his shirt off, drops it to the floor. Cas makes a low, hungry noise, and immediately his hands are everywhere, skimming so reverently over Dean’s exposed skin that it aches, makes Dean gasp and push both his hands under Cas’ shirt, just to have something solid underneath them. He presses his mouth to the skin showing just above Cas’ collar, wets it with his tongue, sucks until Cas groans, deep in his throat and grabs restlessly at the hem of his own shirt.

“Dean.”

“I gotcha. Arms up.” He gets Cas’ shirt clear, palms his ribs, his waist, steers him towards the bed. “Sit,” Dean murmurs, planting a kiss on Cas’ shoulder before giving him a gentle nudge. Cas sits, and Dean sinks, carefully, to his knees, working at Cas’ boot laces with fingers that tremble only a little.

There was a time when Dean could be on his knees all night, and barely feel it in the morning. It’s a shame that Cas won’t get to experience that, but Dean will find a way to make it up to him.

The jeans go next. Cas doesn’t need any real direction on when to lift his hips, though he’s looking at Dean like maybe he’s seeing him for the first time, mouth slack and licked-wet lips parted, and when Dean leans in to kiss him again, he meets Dean half-way - no hesitation - a sweet slip of tongue before he sucks on Dean’s lower lip, cradling Dean’s face between his hands.

When Dean finally breaks away to make a go at his own boots and jeans, his hands definitely _are_ shaking.

The cool air of the room has never felt better on Dean’s bare skin. Cas has managed to get rid of his boxers, and get himself halfway up the bed, but now he’s stopped, caught watching Dean undress, propped up on one elbow, everything on display, the physical manifestation of every wet dream that Dean never dared to have; and that’s it - Dean has to touch him, all of him, kicking the last of his clothes off and crawling up the bed and using his whole body to press Cas into the mattress, solid and hot.

“Holy shit Cas…” This is about to be the shortest race he’s ever run - but the way Cas surges against him, licks into his panting mouth, drags blunt fingernails down Dean’s back, how the hell can he stop himself? He slides against the warm, perfect groove of Cas’ hip, gets a hand between them, around Cas’ cock, and lets himself fall apart.

The way Cas gasps his name as he comes - _Dean_ \- might be the best sound he’s ever heard.

Dean herds Cas into the shower, after. The place has decent water pressure, surprisingly, and a good hot water tank - or maybe they’re just the only ones using it. They spend a long time under the spray, sharing slow, water-logged kisses. Dean soaps up Cas’ hair into wild spikes with his fingers and laughs into his mouth. When they get out and towel off, Cas kisses away the droplets that catch on Dean’s eyelashes.

It feels easy - to smile and laugh and kiss Cas’ mouth, squeeze his ass through the rough motel towel. It feels like home.

The top cover on the bed is pretty messy, so Dean folds it back and resolves to leave a generous tip for housekeeping. The hot shower did more to improve the temperature in the room than the heater probably ever will; but Cas still runs hot anyway, as good as a hot water bottle once they’re under the covers in the dark.

He can tell Cas is close to sleeping in just a couple of minutes by how slow and even his breathing is. Dean knows he should leave well enough alone, but he’s resolved to be smarter this time, to not let too many things go unsaid.

“This...was okay, right?” He feels like an idiot just saying it.

Cas makes a sleepy, curious noise, fingers tracing nonsense patterns on the low part of Dean’s ribs. Dean likes him like this - drowsy and disarmed. Though the other side of it is that he can be a real asshole when he’s overtired. Dean should be letting him sleep, but he makes himself talk.

“I just...wanted something that was only for us, you know. No sneaking around playing grab-ass while Sam and Elieen aren’t looking. I guess I could have tried to be more -” he pauses, coughs, then manages, “romantic. Or whatever.”

“I don’t mind,” Cas says, voice even rougher than normal - enough to give Dean a little achey thrill that might have become something more if he could have jumped his body back in time at least ten years. “If I wanted romantic -”

“Hey,” Dean cuts him off with a laugh. “Don’t say you would’ve picked someone else.”

“I would have said so,” Cas finishes, emphatically.

“Oh.” Of course he would.

Cas slides a leg over Dean’s thighs with heavy finality, burrows his face in Dean’s neck, so that wet tendrils of dark hair tickle Dean’s ear. “Go to sleep, Dean. You’ll need your rest.”

He snorts, “For what?”

Cas’ hand slips low on his stomach, then lower. Heat spins in Dean’s belly.

“Jesus, Cas,” he laughs, raggedly, twisting his head until his mouth meet’s Cas’ forehead in a sloppy half-kiss. “You do know I’m like - _old_ now, right?”

“I have faith in your stamina,” Cas says, unshakable.

As it turns out, he’s right.

***

“So, what do you folks do for fun around here?”

The punkish girl behind the gas station counter doesn’t seem to register the question at first, drowsily gazing out the window to where Cas has been left in charge of gassing up the car. She drags her attention to Dean, blinks twice, then laughs.

“Looks like you already did it,” she says, pointing to Dean’s neck, where his collar has slipped, exposing the truly massive hickey that Cas left behind last night, and refreshed in the morning while he had two fingers deep inside him.

Dean blushes deep red, shifting awkwardly on his feet and tugs his jacket up. “He done out there yet?”

The girl - Anya, her name tag says, with a little smiley face drawn on in sharpie pen at the end - checks the meter. “Nope. Must be a real gas guzzler.”

Dean bristles. “Well. She’s worth it.”

There’s a bright, cheerful ding, and Anya grins at him. “I bet,” she says, passing him the card reader. While Dean’s typing in his pin, she says, “Ya know - you go about an hour north on the 44, there’s Whitby Pumpkin Farm. They’ve got this Haunted Halloween Maze thing - it’s kiddie crap, but I took my girlfriend there last weekend, and I definitely got laid after.” She winks.

“O-kay,” Dean flashes her an awkward thumbs up. “Good for you. And - uh - thanks.”

“Have fun!” She calls after him, as he beats a strategic retreat into the autumn-cool afternoon.

Cas is just climbing back in the car as Dean steps outside. He glances over, bright and joyful, like Dean standing there, wind-ruffled with a crumpled receipt in his hand is the best thing he’s ever seen. Dean’s embarrassment evaporates like a bad dream.

“How do you feel about visiting a Haunted Halloween maze?” Dean asks as they swing out onto the 44, headed north. If Cas says no, they can just keep going.

“You found a hunt?”

Dean glances over, takes in Cas’ calm, but slightly confused face. “What - no. Not a real haunting, Cas. Like - like for fun.”

“Like a date.”

“Yeah,” Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a second, then flashes Cas a smile. “Sure. Like a date.”

Cas nods, once. “I _would_ like that.” He pauses for a moment, looks away. “You know - Sam told me you were still hunting, before I came back. If you wanted to go back to that, I hope you don’t think I would stand in the way. And I may be without my powers for the foreseeable future, but I have significant combat experience - and anything I don’t know, I’m sure I could learn -”

“Cas -” Dean cuts him off, not sharply, but firmly; reaches across the seat and squeezes his arm, familiar, sturdy. “I know, alright. But…” Dean hesitates - but then thinks _why not_? Why can’t they do it? There’s nothing out there anymore, to say they can’t. 

“Actually, I was thinking I might take the winter off.”

-End-


End file.
